dreams dwelt on, and the life led
by eomerking19
Summary: <html><head></head>REdo of 'This Could Be Something'. Time has a strange way of warping things we know to be true. Roslyn struggles in the face of her brother's brutality as she rallies an army to dethrone him. Her love for Logan will endure for as long as she lives, but there comes a time when not even those you love the most can be redeemed. Princess/Ben Finn</html>
1. Chapter 1

eomerking19 here.

I'm so sorry for the year long hiatus (!) but life is life, I guess. So here's the new improved 'This Could Be Something'. It still has the over all plot, but it's been tweaked more than slightly, and is now darker and less care-free than TCBS. If this doesn't appeal, I'm very sorry, but it's how the story evolved in my head. Anyways, happy reading!

**Fable III is owned by Lionshead and not by me in the slightest, which is very upsetting.**

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><p>The sunlight hit her eyes hard as she emerged from the dark greyness of the cave, leaving her blinking away dancing spots of colour. Archon followed closely at her heels, his hackles still raised and letting out a soft but constant growl. The noise turned into a sharp yelp as the Alsatians' leg was sucked halfway under the mud, leaving him so off balance that he tumbled to the floor and landed with a wet thump. Roslyn mused idly that perhaps their new surrounding weren't much of an improvement on the last – not including the sunlight, of course.<p>

They – herself, Walter Beck, and her trusty but filthy hound – had fought their way through a seemingly never-ending system of Hobbe filled caves only to end up in the middle of a forest. It was vastly different from the swathes of high reaching evergreens that covered Mistpeak Valley. For one, the trees here were far closer together, twisting together and sharing space. They seemed older, too, their pale trunks thick and their branches sturdy, exuding a feeling of age that Roslyn hadn't felt since she wandered through the Reliquary beneath Brightwall. Tendrils of vines and ivy hung between them, thickening the already dense canopy. The ground, where it had been cleared of trees in the vaguest indication of a path, was thick and marshy, the mud swimming up over their ankles. The air was permeated with a thick smell of mould, and the surface of the mud shimmered green and purple and yellow with things that hadn't been disturbed in a good long while, and that should probably be left _un_-disturbed.

But what struck Roslyn as most odd was that as far as she could tell, there wasn't any noise at all coming from the forest itself. Only Archon's pants and Walter's huffs sounded near her as they all regained their breath. There was no bird-song, or the scurrying of small creatures in the trees, or larger things skulking in the underbrush. Not even the wind made it through between the great tree trunks to pull and whistle at her. Even the sunlight, which had struck her as bright only a second ago, now seemed pale and listless, devoid of life and colour. Everything was still.

She had never much liked stillness.

Ignoring all of these things, Walter stepped forward with his arms outstretched as if to embrace this strange forest as an old friend. He kicked through the sludge quite happily to forge onwards, despite how it sloshed around him and released strange puffs of air with each movement Walter made. His eyes were closed as he spun in a lazy circle; and smile split his face as he tipped his head back, breathing deeply through his nose. The dried Hobbe blood on his face cracked and flaked off, dropping to the forest floor to be consumed by the marshy ground. Her mentor looked worse for wear, she had to say. As often as he told grand tales of his misspent youth as a soldier in her father's army, or his grand adventures afterwards, Roslyn was ever aware that those stories came from over three decades ago. Walter wasn't as young as he thought himself to be, or as young as he had been in Rhos' mind. Not that he wasn't capable, but Roslyn looked over his slight collection of injuries more critically than she might have done with any other soldier.

He was walking without a limp, and he didn't bear any deep wounds. But a deep tiredness seemed to permeate the man, soaking into every motion and expression. His eyes carried bags underneath them, and the laughter lines on his face had deepened in the six months of their self-induced exile. She supposed that she probably looked no better, but with youth and the blood of Heroes on her side, Roslyn certainly felt better than she supposed poor Walter did.

They drew to a stop barely ten feet from the cave entrance. Archon rubbed his wet nose on the back of her hand. His coat had been wet from various dives into pools in the caves, but that only made the strange mud of the marsh stick to him even more. He shook himself out on her legs happily, spraying mud in every conceivable direction and dirtying her clothes even more so. Roslyn scowled and Walter laughed.

"Ah, Roslyn, you can almost _smell _the sunlight! Isn't it wonderful? The damp, muggy, soggy sunlight." He beamed at her.

"I would hate to see what a disappointment looked like to you, Walter. I fear that it would be too much for anyone else to handle." She looked away from him back to the cave, eager to move further away from it. There was no doubt in her mind that there were any Hobbes left in there, but that didn't mean she was in any way eager to go racing back into it. Walter peered at her as he always did: a mix of amusement battling with concern on his face. His self-placement as her protector left him in a bit of a quandary when she was in danger, because as much as he wanted to be able to swoop in and save her, he simply wasn't able when she was fighting for a cause that needed to see her in action.

"This is Mourningwood." She was told, "There's not any Hobbes here, that you can be sure of. But still, I hope the people we're looking for are still alive." Walter beamed, pleased at him attempt at gravity.

Roslyn rolled her eyes and sighed, pushing away her dog and starting down the squelching path. Her hand came back absolutely coated with mud. She wiped it off on her breeches and grimaced.

"Walter, come on now. Would you really have dragged me all the way out here if the people we're looking for weren't still alive? Maybe stuck in some peril and in need of rescuing, but they'll be alive. It's fairly ridiculous how you still don't trust me with your plans, though."

"You aren't even the slightest bit worried?" He looked upset at her dismissal. Roslyn smirked.

"When I'm with you, Walter, I'm always worried."

Walter hooted, nudging her with his elbow first then slinging his whole arm around her shoulders. He stank utterly of dampness and mildew and blood. Roslyn laughed.

"Though afternoon tea and pleasant conversation would have made a _very _nice change, no?"

"Perhaps next time, Rhos."

"Well, if you're going to be going through all that trouble, next time you might as well keep it 'certainty of death' free as well. Mortal peril too. Oh, and if you could, miss out life threatening beasts, monsters, and creatures the whole thing would be _perfect_."

Walter hummed as he considered it.

"Think you're asking a bit much there."

She sighed dramatically, throwing a hand to her forehead as if she was about to swoon.

"Maybe next time my poor heart won't be able to take it. Oh, do go on without me, brave soldier. Finish my quest, save the world if I cannot!"

Walter tightened his arm around her shoulder, squeezing her to him tightly, then he let Roslyn go and looked at her with a small smile on his face, giving Archon room to butt between them and rub himself on Walter's legs.

"You ain't half like you're Pa, you know. Both sarcastic sods. It's the lowest form of wit, you know."

Roslyn pondered that for a moment before a thought occurred to her. She grinned.

"Is it not possible, Walter, that - seeing as they are your friends - the people we're on our way to see haven't simply died of old age?"

Walter's eyebrows rose, and an offended look stole across his face.

"You cheeky bugger. I am not_ that_ old. Avo, you really are like your father. Speaking of which, Small, if I haven't said it already; you are most definitely his equal with that sword of yours. The rifle too. No doubt if he was still alive you'd give him a good run for his money." He smiled, remembering past battles and victories at her father's side. For a moment Roslyn was struck by a sudden sadness about the fact that she didn't ever get to experience those things with her father, whose portrait is burned carefully into Roslyn's mind. She only hears of his exploits in tales that are second-hand, from people who knew him better than she ever got the chance. She can't remember anymore the feeling of being sat on his knee while he told her stories of pirates and priests and Will users.

"It was almost like being by his side again, only the air was less black with curses – you only turn it a dark greyish colour. But I'd almost forgotten what it was like, to fight next to a hero."

Roslyn looked down to her feet, a deferential move she thought she had conquered years ago, and breathes in sharply through her nose. His admission of her being a Hero happened a long time ago, but that title came with requirements and sacrifices that Roslyn didn't want to think about. She jerked her head up sharply and gave Walter her best smile, fully aware that he could see right through her, as he always had been able. It was a trait that he and Logan had always shared. That thought made her jaw clench horribly.

"Who are we looking for, Walter? Who could be so pivotal to the cause that we need traverse halfway across Albion to recruit them?"

Walter frowned at the abrupt subject change, but knew her well enough to leave it alone. He tried for a smile instead.

"Some old friends," He shrugged, "They should be willing to help you, and their aid would be very much welcome."

"Soldiers, then." She guessed, keeping eye contact with her mentor. She knew her mood had been sporadic of late, and she tried whenever she could to remind Walter of the fact that she was still capable and prepared. Eye contact may not do a lot towards that, but it helped her get her confidence back in line.

"Yes, but loyal to their country, not necessarily their king." Mention of her brother so casually in conversation made Roslyn want to weep, six months on from her escape. She didn't think that that would ever change. She didn't know if she would ever want it to. For all his crimes, Logan was still her brother, the man who loved her and raised her after their father died. Who took on a kingdom before he had stopped growing, and who shouldered so much weight that his back bent under the pressure. Perhaps one day Roslyn would figure out why her brother turned so drastically, or perhaps she would realise that the darkness was always there, lingering under the surface. It was not a nice thing to think on.

"So they would follow me," If her voice sounded thick, Walter didn't mention it.

"Yes, Roslyn. Undoubtedly."

Roslyn blinks particularly hard, looking ahead to the path that wound through the trees and towards their destination.

"Doubt is a hard thing to vanquish these days, Walter."

Her mentor smiles sadly at her, reaching out a large hand to rub her cheek. Her traces one of her scars with his thumb, a thick white line that runs from the tip of her eyebrow to just under her cheek bone, and speaks to her softly.

"Aye, Roslyn, it is. But hope is as easily found as doubt, and a far lighter weight to carry." The smile she offered him was weak, but there, and it bolstered Walter to see it.

"But," He says loudly, making her startle slightly and look up at him, "None of that will matter in the slightest if we don't get out of this bloody swamp. I know diddly squat about this place and its dangers, but right now I'm getting a rash."

Roslyn laughed, loud and bright, and thought then that perhaps there are things apart from hope that were a light weight to carry.


	2. Chapter 2

The second chapter is done! I'm sorry that I didn't quite stick to the whole 'within the week' time-scale, but it's done now, at least. Any who, read and enjoy. Any review is welcomed, and I apologise if it has a slightly rushed quality to it at the end.

(Also, if anyone is up for Beta-ing this fic, please do tell me.)

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><p>It took a good few hours to reach wherever Walter wanted them to be – about four, by Rhos' count. The cloying dampness of the Mourningwood hadn't abated in the slightest during their hike, and the sun had started on its path to the west soon after they had left the cave. The forest swallowed up any sunlight as they trekked further into it, and shadows danced about Rhos and Walter in a way that made them seem alive. Walter had launched into a diatribe of all of his various insect bites a short while ago, detailing each midge he had smacked and where. Archon seemed not to mind, and plodded along happily, his fur still filthy and stinking.<p>

Walter sighed, drawing his long-winded complaint to a close.

"We've been walking for long enough, I'll reckon. Can't be too long now. Oh, the things I'd give right now for a bowl of soup and a nice, hot bath." Rhos smiled at him, reflecting her mentors whimsical state. Days of travel and sleeping in hedges tended to warp the desire for simple things. Archon barked in agreement.

"Hah! It won't be a bath for you, mutt, but a quick dip in the nearest lake!" The alsaitian whimpered, butting his head into Rhos' leg sadly.

"You've haven't ever been here though; have you, Walter?"

"No, Small. I've only ever read the reports and sat in on briefings. I know enough, though."

"So we haven't actually been walking aimlessly for the last few hours?"

"Your faith in me is astounding."

Rhos laughed, but it quickly died as they rounded a thick copse of trees and left the canopy for a short while. The path widened and the trees were pushed back, leading up to a building a hundred metres away.

It was a giant, dilapidated fort, covered in moss and ivy, the walls slumping and masonry stones and bricks littering the forest floor. The gaping holes in the outer walls were boarded up sloppily, the planks of wood roughly cut and unevenly placed. Arrow slits winked at them, the brightness behind them unfavourable and telling. Above it all the Albion flag hung limply, frayed and puckered with holes, looking forlorn amongst the destruction. Not exactly a sight to fill one with hope. Rhos looked to Walter for reassurance, but his eyes were straight ahead of them, running over the forts crumbling entrance.

On a parapet above the old and rusted portcullis a young man stood, uniformed and a flintlock at his side. He looked tired and drawn, only another sleepless night away from exhaustion, but his eyes were quick and alert, flickering over the landscape that lead up to the ruined fort. When he caught sight of them he snapped to attention, bringing his rifle up to his shoulder and peering at them through the sighting. He shouted at them, his voice hoarse and nervous.

"Cease your movement! Be you men, or be you -?"

"Do we share a look to anything other than people, do you think? Pay attention, soldier, and let us inside." Roslyn shouted back, keeping her pace and forcing the soldier to meet her eyes. Walter chuckled as he kept by her side.

"Have you gone daft boy?" He called up jovially, "Open up the doors!"

The soldier lowered his rifled and squinted at them. After a second his eyes widened.

"_Walter_? S'that you, sir?"

"The very same, lad. Now, are you going to let us in or what?" Walter smirked at Rhos, bemusement on every inch of his face. "Soldiers these days," He murmured to her out of the side of his mouth.

The soldier on the parapet nodded furiously and drew himself into a rushed salute.

"Of course, sir." He twisted and shouted over his shoulder for the gate to be raised. "And tell Major Swift: Sir Walter's here!"

"Here we go then, Albion's finest all arranged for your perusal, Roslyn."

Rhos laughed. The portcullis rose slowly, and behind it the gates opened with a creak and then a bang as they slammed against the masonry. Walter was still looking bemused as he strode through the archway, taking point with Archon trotting at his heels. Rhos followed at a slower pace, taking in the entirety of the inside of the fort.

Years, and no doubt many battles, had taken its toll on the inside of the fort as well as the inside. The walls were worn down to only a few feet tall except for where they met the walls and at the rear of the fort, under the stairs. There she could see a few door-less rooms. The upstairs was almost non-existent, the only flooring clinging to the walls, bridged in places, and leading to the crumbling parapets. More planks were employed in creating a failing facsimile of privacy as they were fixed to the remnants of rooms in the four corners of the fort like fencing.

There was a great hush that fell over the fort as She and Walter entered it, followed by an explosion of whispering. The first cheer was followed by a dozen more, along with several calls of 'Walter!'. When eyes fell on her they grew more suspicious, not knowing her as they did the great hero Sir Walter Beck.

Roslyn was well aware that currently she didn't look the part of a rebel warrior princess, but it wasn't entirely her fault. Six months of near constant fighting and travel tended to wear people down, as did a day and a half navigating a system of dank caves filled with Hobbes. She didn't give in to the urge to look down and assess herself – a lack of confidence in front of these men would cause any good to anyone. She knew that her shirt was an absolute state, and it was a quick field surgery that was stopping her from exposing herself to the entire fault. Her good leather jerkin had been set on fire by a Hobbe mage and was flung to the side and, unfortunately, off of a cliff. Her dark mercenary pants were still serviceable, but that was only because the colour of them hid almost all of the damage that had been done to them. Her boots were the most passable thing about the whole ensemble; soft, supple leather and of a quality that came naturally to being the only daughter of the last king and the sister of the next. The only fault on them was the inch thick encrustation of swamp muck surrounding her foot.

Walter looked back to her and she smiled, calm and composed. The gate shut behind them, and the gust of wind it produced blew Rhos' hair over her shoulder and into her face. It stank of cave water and was still damp, water hiding in the thick curls. She had lost her one remaining hair tie to an errant branch in Mistpeak Valley as she and Walter bolted away from a hungry pack of wolves. She had tried the Samarkandi way of twisting her hair and pining it in place with one of her smaller knives, but all she succeeded with was chopping off few inches of her hair. So now it fell down her back, dark and wild and utterly impractical.

Roslyn and Walter stopped in the centre of the fort, where there was a stack of crates doubling as a table and a map of the area spread on its surface and held in place with knives and stones. A door at the far end of the fort was flung open, and a well-dressed figure strode out. The man was outfitted in the uniform of a Major of the Royal Albion Army, and Rhos recognised him instantly as Major William Swift, commander of the Swift Brigade. Major Swift was one of Walter's closest friends, she remembered, and had served with both him and her father in Sparrow's war to gain hold of the country. Roslyn had met him only a few times, and only when she was quite young. She remembered the moustache, though.

Swift smiled cheerily at them, taking the pipe from his mouth and raising the stem to his forehead in a lazy salute.

Walter swept his arms out, "Ah, there he is; the one and only Major Swift!" The Major grinned and held his arm out. The two clasped forearms in a manly, soldier-ish way.

"Walter, dear fellow, what on earth are you doing in this far-flung corner of Albion?" His gaze moved to Roslyn, and his moustache twitched, "Ah. That answers the question then. Well met, your highness."

Rhos took the hand that was offered out to her, feeling the firmness of his grip.

"It has been a good long while, Major Swift."

"Yes, well I fell from the king's graces soon after he was crowned, and I didn't ever manage to regain that position."

Roslyn's smile was hard and not at all happy, and she spoke quietly but firm.

"Perhaps not a great loss when we look back now."

Walter was looking at her sadly, perhaps remembering the children he guarded and cared for after their father died – or maybe the boy that never did live up to expectations, who fell short of each task that Sparrow laid out for him. Each though of Logan reopened the wounds on her heart. It made her wonder if perhaps she could have prevented his fall and the disgrace he was now, or if maybe she could have shouldered the weight of the burden that he had carried for such a long time.

"We came looking for you, Swifty. I have a proposition."

"A proposition. You came all this way to _proposition_ us?"

A soldier had snuck up behind them, and Roslyn had been so lost in melancholy that she hadn't even noticed. She drew herself up slightly, forcing away the dregs of her sudden mood change and turned to look at the man who had spoken. He was tall and fair-haired, bearing the rank of Captain embossed on his field pauldron – that piece of his uniform was immaculate, every scratch and gouge having been carefully oiled and waxed over, so the leather still shone impressively. The rest of his uniform, however, was untidy. His coat was sleeveless and undone at the top, and the brass buttons were dull; his shirt was unlaced and his belt more of an accessory than of any actual use. Not to mention his _hair. _Roslyn had never seen anything act as that man's hair did. It curved in some places then stood up in others, shooting off and falling in his eyes all at the same time. It would have been a shock, if not for the ffact that currently Rhos' own mane was in a rather frightful state. Roslyn had taken this all in quickly, and not a second after she had perceived it all, the soldier had sighed wistfully.

"And here I was thinking that you were here to save us from the legions of the damned." He looked disappointed in the old knight. Rhos smiled softly and Walter let out a chuckle.

"Ben Finn! It's good to see you, lad."

Ben Finn laughed and shook Walter's hand. Then he turned and ran his eyes over Roslyn. Rhos stared back, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head in a subtle challenge. He smirked.

"Ain't she a little young for you, Wally?" Finn asked, waggling his eyebrows. His gaze never left hers, but somehow he managed to duck under Walter's massive fist as it swung for him. Finn laughed again as he danced away from the blow, then he settled himself in front of her. He offered his palm hand up. Rhos played along, a smile blossoming on her lips. She placed her hand on his and watched as bent and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

"Captain Benjamin Finn, my lady. At your service."

Walter huffed over to the side, and Swift looked over the action with a warm smile on his face.

"Peace, Walter. Enough, Ben. This is no lady."

Roslyn laughed, catching the amused tone of Swifts voice and the hint hidden in his words. She pulled her hand from the Captain and stepped away.

"Don't be getting any ideas, Ben." Walter warned. It only made Finn smirk all that harder.

"Oh, so she is yours, Walter. You should have said!"

"Not quite, Captain Finn." Rhos told him, the smile now set firmly. She turned to the Major. "Swift, perhaps you could tell us more of the fort, and the battles you have been facing here – I would be most interested to hear it." It was a calculated question, and full of just enough authority for her to feel as if she had some sort off grip on the situation: Walter's efforts at keeping her safe and secure often blew back on them in a violent way, and now she was endeavouring to keep as ahead of the inevitable fall-out as she could.

"I take it the legends about this place are true then?" Walter said sombrely, his bushy brows drawn over his eyes. Captain Finn nodded, laughing mirthlessly.

"I'll say! I'd never thought that they were real things, but I swear to you, Walter, at night the forest is _full _of Hollowmen."

They had begun walking, led by Major Swift, to the east side of the fort, further from the communal areas that she had spotted when they had first entered the fort. Rhos froze utterly at the mention of Hollowmen, halting in her steps and looking at the captain with wide and fearful eyes. Finn stared back at her in surprise. Quickly she clenched them shut then forced herself to move, ignoring Walter's motion towards her.

"Small…"

"It is nothing," She replied quickly, fighting against the panic that was clawing at her from the inside. She remembered Hollowmen far too well, and had known for a long time that they were far more than myths. "Really Walter, I miss-stepped. Truly. Now let us continue."

Walter nodded at Swift, and for a moment Roslyn seethed that the Major would look to Walter for permission over her. But as soon as the feeling rose she stamped it down, settling herself back into the calm and coolness that she had perfected over the last few months. Swift continued on his path, leading the quiet group to an alcove built into the stone wall of the fort. It enclosed a small space, and in it held three freshly dug graves, each topped by a pile of stones. The one in the middle was far longer, and had an officer's hat placed on top of the stones.

"WE've been here for weeks – trying to eradicate them. But mostly it's us getting eradicated." Swift's voice contained a quiet fury, and Roslyn could see the anger in his face as he stared at the graves of his dead men. "We lost some damn good men last night, including Lieutenant Simmons here," HE gestured to the officer's grave, "And the bastards will just be back tonight."

Walter sighed sadly, bringing up his hand to knead at the joining of shoulder and his neck. "Logan just loves to send you on all the best assignments, doesn't he?" Roslyn's jaw clenched on instinct, and Swift stared at her gravely.

"Whatever you have to offer, Walter, it has to be better than _this_."

Rhos didn't want to deal with the second-hand guilt of seeing the turmoil and loss of life her brother's reign had brought about. She didn't think she actually _could _at that moment, not when she was staring down at the remnants of three lives wasted needlessly against an unstoppable enemy.

"Walter, perhaps you and the good General should settle yourself in the command room. You have a lot to talk about."

"Of course, Small." The two soldiers nodded to her and then to Finn before striding back in the direction they had all come from. Roslyn turned to her single companion.

"Captain Finn, would you be so kind as to show me the rest of the fort – I have not yet met the rest of the Swift Brigade." Finn was looking at her with his eyebrows knotted together, something going on his mind that was working it so fast that she could almost see the wheels and cogs turning. His gaze was evaluating and piercing, and Rhos wanted nothing more than to hide from it. Instead she smiled, faint against the backdrop of war and death, but strong enough that she could confidently meet the captain's eyes and issue her next demands.

She turned her head and whistled, and Archon came bounding over from where he had sequestered himself under that ramshackle tables that held gamblers clustered around their dice and their rations. He had a strip of salted meat in his maw and was looking unbelievably proud of himself. HE was still filthy, though. And on reflection, so was she.

"But first, Captain - please tell me that you have a spare bath-tub."


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the wait, but real life and all of that.

CHAPTER THREE

Ben had heard the opening of the gate and the shouting coming from the men all the way at the rear of the fort. He and Swift we're going over new strategies, and trying very hard not to look at the empty space where Simmons used to stand. Swift looked up instantly, concerning creasing his features. He tapped his pipe then twirled his moustache.

"Finish up in here, lad, then come join me and see what all the fuss is."

Ben looked down at the table as soon as Swift left, assessing the drawings and lines of the map of the fort and the land surrounding it. Hollowmen weren't particularly intelligent, but the sheer numbers being thrown at them was quickly wearing the brigade down. It wasn't difficult to down the creatures either, and they had learnt early on that fire consumed them quickly, but it was just a matter of laying the right traps and utilising the men they had left properly in order to quell the numbers. The mortar worked well enough on them, but that couldn't be used constantly as they didn't have the quantity of shells needed for that sort bombardment.

He sighed and raked both hands through his hair. The weeks they had spent here had been so long that Ben didn't think he could remember what it was to be not damp, miserable, and so thoroughly _tired_. He drew on the final few lines and markings, and flicked over the model that represented the Hollowmen, sending it skittering across the table-top.

"We'll get you, you nasty bastards."

The fort had come alive in the minutes since the gate had been opened, the men muttering and nudging each other. There were two people stood by the Major, one hidden behind the other and the angle that Ben was coming from. But the other was none other than Sir Walter Beck, hero without the capital H, and soldier to the stars. Ben grinned, coming close enough to listen to the conversation.

"_We came looking for you, Swifty. I have a proposition."_ Walter said, somewhat hurriedly, a strange expression on his face that Ben couldn't quite pin down. He took the open ended sentence as a chance to butt his head.

"A proposition. You came all this way to _proposition_ us?" Swift, Walter and the third hidden person turned to look at them. Walter stepped back slightly, a grin over taking his face. "And here I was thinking that you were here to save us from the legions of the damned." Ben finished with a flourish, shaking his head and tutting. Swift sighed.

"Ben Finn! It's good to see you, lad." He shook Walter's outstretched hand, laughing jovially. Then he turned to glance at Walter's companion and his mind stuttered for a moment. Avo's grace, but she was a picture to look at. Tall, long-limbed, dark-haired and with sinfully dark eyes, Ben took a moment to think that he really had been out here alone in the middle of nowhere for far too long. She looked at him, an eyebrow raised and her chin tilted just so that his eyes went her lips, which were rosy and shapely and very lovely to look at and to wonder about. He smirked at her. He kept his eyes on hers when he next spoke, taking a jab at the old soldier, then neatly ducked under the swing of Walter's heavy hand. Ben laughed, holding his hand out to take hers, and caught the start of a smile on her wonderful lips as he bent to drop a kiss lightly on her knuckles.

Walter sighed indignantly as Ben introduced himself, pouring as much of his charm into the words as he possibly could. It was Swifty who told him to pack it in – though he was smiling as he said it - and so Ben reluctantly stepped back from this new beauty in the isolated fort. She didn't part with her own name, though. Swift assured them that the woman wasn't quite a lady, and Ben was puzzled by the pleased and amused laugh that she gave out at the Major's words. Walter, too, seemed to find it amusing in some sense. The woman then asked Swift to relate the details of the daily battles held here, her voice as firm and sure as her gaze was. Her inflection spoke of a good upbringing in an affluent household, as her voice was posh and plum and as smooth as silk. Major Swift nodded in acquiescence, leading them towards the freshly-dug graves of the three men they had lost the night prior. It was at the mention of Hollowmen that the woman's confidence seemed to scatter.

Ben heard her stop, and turned back to look at her, and her expression caught him so off guard that it was all he could do just to stare at her. Her whole face was a contortion of fear, her eyes wide and her nostrils flared. Her dark eyebrows were pulled together, and her mouth dropped open ever so slightly. It was her hands, though, that were clenched so tightly at her sides, which made Ben pause. Her knuckles were white with a tension that seemed to spread through her whole body. She caught his eyes and in an instant her own were forced closed and she took in a deep breath, moving forward to catch up with them.

"Small…"

Ben saw the look of overwhelming concern on Walter's face, and how it was echoed in lesser tones on Swift's face. He was sure that there must have been some sort of similar expression on his own, showing the sudden confusion and helplessness he felt at seeing a woman who had been so calm and strong-looking only a second before seemingly rocked to her core. He had seen soldiers react like that, so strongly and suddenly to something that could trigger the worst kinds of memories. He could only guess at how many night-terrors gripped the men of this fort, filling their dreams with shuffling bones and bare sockets filled with blue flame. And Avo only knew how many he himself had had.

She passed it over as a trip, and none of them were convinced in the slightest, but she waved away any concerns they may have voiced and Swift then led them to the grave site. Ben stepped back slightly to let the two old soldiers lead. The woman had regained all the calm she had had before, and stared at the three graves and their markers with a sorrow that moved Ben. It was a strange expression that took over her fair face – one of sadness, yes, but there was guilt lingering on her features that Ben couldn't quite explain. Walter was more visibly affected by it, sighing and rubbing his neck. He and Swift traded comments on the fairness of their assignment and how it had been the king who had specifically ordered them to Mourningwood. The woman's jaw clenched spasmically. She all but ordered Walter and Swift to the back room, then turned to him with such a commanding air that he nearly shrank away from her. She gave a demand to be shown around the fort, and Ben wasn't sure if he would've even been able to refuse. With a whistle a great big black and brown dog came loping over, a soldier's rations in his mouth. Ben stared at the woman, trying to work out what – or who – she was. She smiled back at him, soft but brilliant.

"But first, Captain - please tell me that you have a spare bath-tub."

Ben had stood gaping at her for a few moments, and it was only when her smirk unfolded fully on her face that he managed to pick his jaw off of the floor.

"Right you are then. The commons this way, Miss…?"

"Roslyn. Rhos."

He looked at her sharply, facts coming into his mind that he hadn't put together before. Walter, the way she spoke and held herself, the authority she held over Swifty.

"Avo, you're –"

"If you could keep that to yourself, Captain, I would be most obliged. Major Swift trusts you, and that means that I will trust you also, but where I am and what I can do is information I really don't want my brother to know."

She stuttered slightly on calling the king her brother, but nothing else on changed; neither her face nor posture gave a way the slight slip. Then she took a step forward, beseeching him with those darks eyes and her lovely lips parted. She was only a few hairs shorter than him, and he wasn't a small man. The proximity gave Ben a better view of her, the rest of her, though, was hidden under layers of clothes; breeches and shirts and undershirts. Immediately he scolded himself, and he heard Swift's voice in his head reminding him quite strictly that she was _the princess, for Avo's sake, don't you dare imagine her naked. _Ben gulped.

"What shall I call you then, 'cos 'Roslyn' is pretty well known, ma'am."

Rhos laughed when he called her 'ma'am', pressing the back of her knuckles to her lips in – quite frankly – an adorable reaction.

"That choice would be yours, Captain Finn – as long as it is neither 'Princess' nor '_Ma'am_'."

The area of the fort that they'd sectioned of for washing was at the back of the bunk-room, which was the second of the three rooms with four walls and a ceiling. Ben grabbed the attention of the loitering soldiers with a wave of his hands and a quick yell. The men looked up in surprise, some being startled from naps and others from their games of cards. They looked between Roslyn and Ben, disbelief and confusion on their faces.

"All right, this room is now in use – and seeing as none of you louts are female in any sort of way, it means that you're clearing out."

They grumbled but got to their feet. Roslyn smiled at them, soft and very feminine. The few men that managed to make eye contact with her blushed and looked away abashedly as they scuttled from the room. Ben laughed as he led her to the back room. In it were several buckets full of water, as well as short three-legged stools and a collection of wash rags. Roslyn's eyes went to the large wooden tub that was overturned in the corner and was piled with a collection of bandages and other medical miscellanea. Ben shook his head.

"Sorry, princess, but we haven't got enough water to fill that. You'd be sitting in about an inch."

Roslyn flinched when he called her 'princess' but recovered quickly and threw him a grin. Ben wanted to punch himself in the face for his mistake.

"I can take care of the water, Captain Finn. But I might need help moving all of this," She waved her hand at the tubs contents and ignored his blunder. He had only time to shrug before Roslyn had his arms full of bandages and sewing kits and was pointing him back into the bunk-room, where he laid them all out on the nearest bunk. It took a few trips, and then between they managed to flip the heavy wooden tub. It was banded with iron, and took a great deal of heaving to even get it to budge. Eventually they got it to tip far enough over and they both took a quick step back as it fell to the floor and landed with a solid thump.

"Are you watching, Captain?" Roslyn asked him, her lips twisted in a sly smile. Carefully she took off her gloves, pulling at the fingers then the whole glove, sliding it them off of her hands. Immediately Benn could see the strange contraption she had on her hands. They looked like a fingerless gauntlets, and from what Ben could see they both travelled up and around her wrists as well. The things were dark black, and shone more like stone than metal. Roslyn turned her palms to face him, and in the middle of them Ben could see gems, each about the size of a button. Roslyn looked at it, and the colour flickered from a clear crystalline to a light and frosty blue in one palm, and a dark, burnt orange in the other. She looked at him and the smile turned into a happy grin. Roslyn was clearly revelling in his astonishment.

"My father could use his Will with barely any thought, but unfortunately I cannot channel it well at all without help from these." She explained.

Without warning, her arms snapped out towards the tub, palm down, and she began to glow softly and very faintly. From one hand came a fast stream of snow, thick and pure white. Ben stared the spectacle, wonder as his face as the tub quickly filled up to the brim. Concentration was heavy on Roslyn's face as the second gauntlet then let out a pillar of fire that blasted the surface of the snow and left a steaming bath full of water in a matter of seconds.

"Blimey. I've never seen a Will user before."

"There's probably an argument out there that says I'm not a _proper _Will user, but these allow me to use my limited abilities and so I don't rightly care that it's not purely my own power. Now, if you could, Captain Finn…"

"What? Oh. _Oh_. Right, I'll be…outside then. As in the fort, not the door. Just in case you thought, you know-"

"I know, Captain."

He left quickly, probably blushing to the roots of his hair. He had no idea where this sudden stuttering and stammering had come from. She'd been around barely ten minutes and he's acting like a twelve year old boy around his first crush. Pathetic, really. But it was probably just the fact that he had had only male company for the past few weeks, and Roslyn was undeniably female. He grimaces as the thought passes through his mind.

_She's the sodding princess of Albion, Finn. You're far too lowly for her, so get your damn act together._


End file.
